


Sweet Summer Sweat

by fistfulofglitches



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Denial, F/F, F/M, Femlock, Joan is lying to herself, Joanlock - Freeform, Lesbian, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Smut, Unrequited Love, ambiguous - Freeform, plot twist towards end, pre-joanlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:56:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fistfulofglitches/pseuds/fistfulofglitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's mid-July and she can't sleep, though not for lack of trying. In which Joan fantasizes about what cannot be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Summer Sweat

Sprawled naked beneath the sheets, Joan lays with the scents of London drifting through her window. It's mid-July and she can't sleep, though not for lack of trying. Her thoughts are meandering in and out of the war, of the emergency room, winding towards the suffocating sense of isolation that the still air seems to inspire in her. She brushes another hand across her face, to wipe away the wetness. It's a mixture of sweat and perhaps another thing she's embarrassed to admit, even to herself. 

She's wide awake. She's antsy. She's too ashamed to get a beer from downstairs. Lord knows Sherlock would hear her. Sherlock.

It's funny that, however embarrassing crying is and will always be to her, the thoughts that Sherlock gives her make her feel so stupid. Even stupider than she was in secondary school, always the last one finishing the problems on the board, always the worst writer, always the failure. Well, she proved herself in the war. 

Sherlock took those adolescent feelings and combined them with the baggage of a damaged drunk fresh from the frontlines.

Mmm, Sherlock. 

Joan begins to float away, as if in a dream. She always did have the imagination, although not the skills, of a writer. Sherlock joins her, between the silk sheets of her personal hideaway. 

Joan imagines the hot air escaping Sherlock's lips hitting the nape of her neck. Christ, Sherlock, she thinks. Sherlock places a gentle kiss on her shoulder, before positioning herself over Joan. 

The sheet began to slip, and Joan, now an expert at this game of mental gymnastics, threw her mind's sheet over the detective's back. The sheet kept this tense exploration safe from all its implications.

As her weight came on top of Joan's, Sherlock stares at her with such a burning intensity that Joan found herself breathless. Awestruck, like a virgin. A coil in the pit of her stomach begins to form as Sherlock's fingers grazed her thighs, then her stomach, before finally cupping Joan's breast. Joan feels a shiver slice through her.

Goosebumps form when Sherlock's lips meet Joan's. She times the response so that her fingers slightly pinch the tips of her nipples. When did Sherlock get so good at this?

The coil begins to tighten and stretch towards her lower regions, but all the while, Sherlock continues to rub her fingers back and forth. Joan's hand flies to Sherlock's, only to grab her wrists. Sherlock's eyes brighten at the hitch in Joan's throat.

"Sherlock, mmm," Joan lets her eyes close and feels all the wonderful things Sherlock is accomplishing with her mouth, hands, and even legs; the detective's legs are against hers in just the perfect way. 

"You damn tease!" Joan hisses, but they both know she loves it. After a long suck on her neck, Sherlock relents and removes her hand from Joan's chest to her slit. The coil pushes down below her abdomen.

Slowly, Sherlock inserts those long fingers inside her and Joan is glad its her fingers and not that which poisons their love. She grabs the sheets with her hands, breath coming in spurts. The coil begins to spring through her body. Her back arches of its own accord. A high-pitched whine escapes, and then she's coming, she's coming. Her muscles spasm as all the previous tension releases into the hot, July air.

Joan is alone, but she's tired. She sucks in a deep breath, spitting it out in a snort. How ironic, a lesbian falling in love with a man. She sighs and before she knows it, she's gone.


End file.
